Ghosts of the Past
by poorlittlerichgirl91
Summary: One year after the sinking, Rose receives a surprise visitor. Will they be able to pick up where they left off?
1. Chapter 1

_April 14, 1913_

Rose smoothed out the creases of her work dress, glancing at the calendar perched on her vanity as she prepared for her shift. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat as she dabbed on her favourite lipstick, her bottom lip quivering under a forcefully-restrained sob. One year had passed since she'd seen his face, felt his touch, tasted his kiss. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five sunsets without the light of her life. The time had flown by and was now a blur of desolate memories; there had been days when grief had almost consumed her whole and then there had been days when it seemed as though nothing could penetrate the barriers of her emotional lassitude.

She didn't talk about him, didn't talk about _Titanic; _there were times she'd been convinced that she had made Jack Dawson up inside her head. She didn't have a photograph of him, didn't own any of his possessions; all physical traces of his existence had followed their ill-fated ship of dreams to the bottom of the sea.

The sea: a place where her soul had lived and died, loved and lost; it was all and nothing she had to remember him by.

She saw him in her mind's eye out on the ship's promenade deck; the sea breeze blowing his sandy blond mop of hair, golden-tan skin just visible in his open-collared shirt, piercing eyes of azure squinting in the sun.

That's when the tears came.

She silently cursed herself for letting her mind wander this far. How could she be so careless? Jack's memory was safe; buried in an ocean of secrets deep within her heart, a place she feared to tread and seldom did.

She took a deep breath as she pinched the bridge of her nose, silently willing the anguish to subside.

* * *

"Thank you, Rose." Tim Calvert raised his hat and gave her a hopeful smile.

Rose smiled at him discreetly as he left some change on the table and walked out from his booth.

She could sense him lingering, perhaps hoping she would make conversation, but nonchalantly she stayed where she was, not in the mood today to entertain the roster of male customers infatuated with her.

She'd worked at this café since docking in New York a year ago, and it hadn't taken long to build up a regular clientele of men who visited just to swoon over her; '_Come for the Rose, stay for the food!_' her boss, Angelo, had jested warmly. Granted, Tim Calvert was more savoury than most; she preferred him over the drunken factory workers with their wandering eyes, but Tim was also _interested_ – he wanted to get to know her, and that terrified her. Not wanting to encourage anybody, she had started to wear a cheap gold band on her ring finger to deter unwanted attention.

After a few moments of standing around awkwardly, Tim finally left, and she let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding.

She counted the change he'd left on the table, wondering whether or not she should accept his gratuity. She supposed she should be flattered, but what was the point? It would be unfair to Tim to lead him on when her heart was so unattainably guarded. Nobody even remotely came close to Jack, nobody ever would – how could they?

She slipped the coins into the tip jar.

Gathering the empty plates and used crockery, Rose glanced out of the broad window that overlooked the bustling commotion of the Bowery. People littered the streets; market stalls opened for business, horses pulled carts of deliveries, overpacked trolley buses rolled by. In the distance, a concrete skyline loomed with towering buildings and greyscale smog from factory chimneys. The city was cold, figuratively and literally; it represented to her the harsh reality of unfulfilled promises and broken dreams.

She was about to turn back to the table, when suddenly–

Rose's heart stopped in her chest.

There, across the potholes and cobblestones, his lean frame stood tall; hands buried in the pockets of brown slacks, shaggy blonde hair slicked back from the moisture that hung in the air. His face was distorted due to the industrial haze, but she could just make out the golden skin-tone; the familiar posture, the height... It was uncanny.

The sound of dishes crashing to the floor was the only thing that could snatch her attention, and she tore her eyes away for barely a second to observe the pile of shattered porcelain lying at her feet. When she looked back up, he had vanished.

Panicked; she let out a sob and raced outside, searching the scenery in despair. _No!_ This couldn't be happening. She couldn't lose him again. The harsh Manhattan wind bit her face as she stood in the middle of the road; turning clockwise as she looked around helplessly, unfamiliar faces merging together in a gathering crowd but none of them _his_. The whirling in her head came to an abrupt stop when the piercing honk of an automobile blasted from behind her, the driver loudly lambasting her to _'move out the way!'_

Realising she had caused a small commotion, she reluctantly headed back to the café, brushing off the handful of concerned pedestrians in her trance-like state. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek, trying to understand what had just taken place.

"You okay, Rosie?" Angelo asked as he stood in the doorway, concern wilting his features.

She walked past her boss; her eyes brimming with fresh tears and a trembling hand pressed to her chest. "Sorry, Angelo. I thought I saw–" Her voice wavered as she glanced back to the spot where the mysterious figure had stood. Composing herself, she turned to the older man and forced a smile. "It doesn't matter. I'm sorry for being clumsy. I'll get these cleared up right away."

He smiled sympathetically. "Be careful, doll."

She nodded unconvincingly as he returned to the kitchen.

Ignoring curious sets of eyes peering over morning newspapers, she walked past the aisles of tables and returned to where she'd been standing before the world had stopped. She knelt down, gathering the shards of porcelain scattered on the floor tiles. Facing toward the window once more; she squinted her eyes hard, _willing_ him to reappear... but to no avail.

Had she really imagined it?

Snapping her out of her thoughts was the merry chatter of a small group walking through the door, just in time for the lunch hour. She sighed heavily and pushed the incident to the back of her mind.

* * *

Night time still brought with it the familiar sinking feeling of dread and melancholy that - no matter how accustomed to it she'd grown - still weighed heavy on her broken heart.

Rose sat in the ratty armchair of the apartment she'd lived in for the past twelve months. She had turned down free housing from the Red Cross; having found a large wad of Cal's cash in her coat pocket whilst onboard the Carpathia and soon securing her waitress job after docking, it hadn't seemed necessary for her to use charity that bereft families and orphaned children needed more than she did. Hers was a modest place; complete with a kitchen/living area, one bedroom, and a tiny washroom. It hadn't taken her long to adjust, and she had surprised herself with her steely determination to forge a new life. Of course, that didn't stop the sorrow that followed her home every night. Often, she had found herself preferring to sleep on the couch; the bedroom held painful associations of her first nights here: nights spent keening for Jack and sobbing herself to sleep, and now she tried to spend as little time as possible in there.

She finished the last of her red wine and cast her gaze to the raindrops pattering against the dirty window. Seeing– _whatever she'd seen_ earlier had been an unbelievably cruel trick of her imagination. A deliberate taunt. For those few, brief moments she had felt a surge of lightness, freeing her from the iron shackles of grief. There had been a fleeting prospect of possibility that she'd not felt for a year; a chance for a future with him: a life of boundless horizons and seaside piers.

_No. _She shook her head as if physically denying her mind access to such torturous thoughts.

Facing forward again, she swallowed the lump forming in her throat, desperately wanting this day to be over; desperately wanting this _week_ to be over. The past four days had been fraught with reminders; whenever she'd check the time, she found her head instantly flooded with intrusive mental images of what she had been doing and who she had been with this time a year ago. Today – the final day – was proving to be the hardest and the most painful, as she'd rightfully anticipated it to be.

A light knock on the front door stirred her from her thoughts. She frowned softly, confused at who on earth it could be; not having been expecting any visitors. As she walked towards the doorway, she could hear the rain heavier now, pelting down loudly from the other side. Sighing deeply, somewhat exasperated by the inconvenient disturbance, she pulled the thin robe tighter around her body and began fiddling with the door latch.

Her breath hitched audibly as she opened the door and was met with the figure she had spotted across the street earlier. His back was facing her but she instantly recognised the tall frame and wiry build, and the all-too-distinct shape and texture of his hair. Water droplets were gathered on the dark wool coat covering broad shoulders that led down to a lean waist. At the sound of the door creaking open, he turned around.

The air was knocked out of Rose's lungs.

Her dainty, trembling hands flew to her mouth to suppress the loud sob that involuntarily escaped. Tears immediately filled her widened eyes as she took in the face of a man she'd mourned for a year: piercing blue eyes, deep and full of longing; sandy blond hair falling the way it always had, doused in the rain that was still falling outside.

She felt all colour drain from her cheeks as her brain attempted to grasp the situation.

"Hello, Rose." his voice rasped, like an echo from beyond the grave.

That's all it took for her head to start spinning. She moved a hand to desperately grip the doorframe, feeling her vision begin to blur and her consciousness start to slip. One breathy word escaped her quivering lips before everything went black; a word she had not spoken in three hundred and sixty five days.

"Jack..."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack quickly stepped into the apartment before she had the chance to hit the floor. Lifting her into his arms with ease, he held her against his body as he carried her towards the worn couch in the middle of what looked to be the sitting room. Holding her close, he took a moment to drink her in; her porcelain skin smooth and immaculate just as he'd remembered, her flaming red tendrils cascading past her shoulders. As he gently laid her limp body down on the tattered piece of furniture, he was overcome by the scent that had haunted his dreams for the past year. He straightened up and removed his wet jacket, draping it over the back of the couch where she now lay. Walking into the small kitchen, he looked around; finding an unused wash cloth and dampening it under the faucet, before walking back into the sitting room.

Kneeling down in front of the couch, he laid the wet cloth on her ashen forehead, dabbing gently. He stayed there for several moments, staring at her; trying to absorb as much of her as he could. Gingerly, he brought a hand up and ran his fingers through her soft curls, remembering how her gorgeous hair had mesmerised him all that time ago; the way the wind had whipped it against him at the bow, the way it had flowed effortlessly behind her as they ran from Cal's valet, the way it had clung to the sweat on her forehead as he'd made love to her. His breath caught in his throat as he tentatively lifted his hand, brushing a callused thumb ever so softly over the vermilion border of her cupids bow; the lips he'd wistfully longed to kiss every damn day for the past year.

She began to stir after a few moments, her eyes dancing under closed lids and her full lips trembling with muted words. He took her right hand between both of his and listened as her voice became audible.

"Jack..." she murmured, her head lulling back and forth. "...Jack..."

"I'm here, Rose. It's okay, open your eyes." He encouraged, holding her hand against his chest with one hand while the other ran a thumb along the dip underneath her lips.

When her eyes eventually fluttered open, she stared at him; disorientated and just a little bit scared. Was he real? A phantom? A dream? Had the grief finally rendered her insane? She squinted her eyes incredulously, before they widened in realisation.

"Jack...?" She cried in disbelief, a shaking hand flying up to cover her gaping mouth as she struggled to sit upright. "N-no, it can't be— I saw you–" She whimpered through gasping breath, panting deliriously. He watched with growing concern as she began hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey," came his voice – low and soothing – as he reached to take her hand in both of his. "Slow your breathing down." He edged closer to her, looking into her eyes. "Rose, listen to me. Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, breathe with me, Rose."

She clung to his hand and followed his demonstration, combating the panic overtaking her body with slow inhalation and steady exhalation. She closed her eyes, hearing her heart pound in her ears as they breathed together.

"Good girl, good girl."

After a few moments, her breathing regulated and she slowly opened her tear-filled eyes, hands reaching out for him automatically. "Jack—?" she whimpered.

He laughed breathlessly at her reaction, his fingers grazing over her forearms.

"Hi, sweetheart." he chuckled lightly, his voice thick with emotion.

"Jack..." She repeated, choking back a sob. "What— Am I dreaming? Please don't tell me I'm dreaming–" She whispered, extending her trembling hands to the tanned skin of his cheek, caressing faintly; tentatively, afraid he might disappear underneath her fingertips.

Closing his eyes against her desired touch, his head leaned against her dainty hand. "You're not dreaming, Rose. I promise you. I'm here. I'm here,"

She moved towards him at a slow and measured pace until her cheek was pressed against his, her eyes fluttering closed at the heavenly sensation of his warm, tan skin; animated once more with vigorous life. She gasped when she felt the rough texture of his cheek against hers; dry and weathered, dotted with broken capillaries: the result, she knew all too well, of the unforgiving New York chill. To Rose, though, this was proof enough: he was before her now, not as the haunting, flawless image she saw every night in her dreams, but as her perfectly imperfect Jack, tattered and frayed by life and experience.

His damp hair felt cool against her forehead as she brought her hands up to cradle his face. Goosebumps broke out across his skin as he felt her warm breath against him.

"Jack," She breathed, feeling the thud of his heartbeat as she ran her hands over his chest. "How...? I saw you in the w-water, I—"

Tears were spilling from her eyes as images of him submerged beneath the icy waves flashed in her mind. He pulled his head back to look at her, keeping his eyes trained on hers as he brought his hands to cup her face tenderly.

"I don't... I don't really know." He sighed, gathering his thoughts. "I remember... Being in the water…" He spoke slowly, as though reliving the memory. "I heard you say there was a boat. I was alive – barely. I couldn't move, couldn't open my eyes. It was like I was paralysed. I was tryin' so hard to answer you." He moved his thumbs over her cheeks, brushing fresh tears away. "The next thing I know, I was underwater again. The freezing temperature musta' kickstarted my adrenalin or somethin' because I suddenly came to, and just fought with everything in me to make it to the surface. I kept thinkin' of you Rose… Your face, your hair, your kisses, your warmth—"

He was blinking back tears now as he looked at her, watching her choke out a breathless cry of disbelief.

"I don't know what happened after that. I woke up over a month later at St. Vincents in the Village. They transported me straight from the rescue ship; I was in a coma for over a week. Severe hypothermia and frostbite, covered in cold burns and sores from that goddamn water. When I woke up, I had no feeling in my arms or legs, couldn't even lift a pencil to draw with... It took me a month just to learn how to walk again. I remember doctors tellin' me they'd probably need to amputate three of my fingers and my left leg, but... Luckily, it never came to that." He grinned reassuringly as she listened intently, her hands caressing him soothingly as if willing every last bit of pain away. "It was late August before I made a full recovery, much to everyone's surprise." His eyes softened now, full of hurt and longing. "I thought of you every damned day and dreamt about you every night, Rose. It was killin' me, having to lay there day in, day out, desperate but unable to find out where you were; whether you were safe—"

Rose swallowed the painful lump caught in her throat as she saw the anguish evident in his eyes. He reached up to push a stray red curl behind her ear as his eyes searched the scope of her delicate face.

"When I couldn't find you on the survivor list, I thought maybe I'd got it wrong... Thought maybe somehow you'd not made it into the boat after all. I checked every hotel and hospital in New York City, tracked down all the places they'd taken survivors, visited the Red Cross... I never stopped lookin' for you." He breathed, his thumb tracing the apple of her cheek. "The only trace of a Rose DeWitt-Bukater was a memorial service in Philadelphia..." Tears filled his own eyes now; accentuating their magnificent blue hue, unasked questions lingering within their depths. "I believed it for a while. Convinced myself that if you were alive, Cal and your mother would've found ya if I hadn't. Figured I was just in denial..." He shrugged sorrowfully. "I thought about taking off out West, away from here; away from the cold and the painful memories — visit our pier and do all the stuff we talked about... Try to make some peace with it, y'know? I almost left, but... Somehow I just..." He paused, swallowing a lump in his own throat. "Didn't feel ready to face that future without you—"

Rose choked out a sob caught in her throat, letting the tears flow freely now. Jack kept his eyes trained on her; his thumbs catching the tears falling from her eyes and wiping them away tenderly.

"They let me a room in the hospital over winter. Didn't wanna take any chances with me being out on the streets... New York weather and all. Being in the water for so long weakened my lungs and immune system, they were worried that if I got even slightly sick I'd be a goner..."

Her eyes widened and searched his face in concern, noticing not for the first time his rain-soaked hair and clothes. She felt a rush of exasperation at his reckless disregard for his own health.

"Jack, you shouldn't have been outside. The weather–"

"Don't worry. I'll be alright."

He whispered the words reassuringly but Rose's heart still jumped; remembering the last time she'd heard him utter those same words. His eyes met hers, suggesting it may have triggered a recollection in his own mind also.

Pushing the memory of a past life to the back of her head, she somewhat unwillingly pulled herself out of his embrace.

"I'm getting you something warm to drink."

She stood up, dashing towards the kitchen before he had time to argue.

Jack shifted from his knees onto the couch, letting out a heavy breath as he allowed the relief to wash over him. Raking his hand through his hair and attempting to fight back fresh tears, he looked around at the furnishings of her quaint living room and smiled to himself. Books on a variety of topics from art to politics were placed on every and any surface; a writing desk took up one end of the room, littered with unfinished pages gathered around a mint-green type writer; her waitressing uniform hung from the doorframe next to the kitchen.

Disturbing his thoughts, she walked back into the living room carrying a blanket in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Jack watched as the silk robe clung to the voluptuous curves of her body; her flaming curls flowing majestically behind. He felt his breath catch in his throat; wondering how it was possible for a person to look so effortlessly magnificent at any time, place or circumstance. She resumed her place on the couch, now sat beside him, passing him the mug of tea and offering the blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you," he whispered, his smile warm as he sipped the hot liquid gratefully and shrugged into the thick wool blanket.

She was still unable to take her eyes off him; disbelief rendering her almost stupefied. He saw this, placing the mug carefully down on the side table before turning to her.

"Can you–" She started, a lump forming in her throat. "Will you just hold me, Jack? Please?" She gasped.

He blinked softly, seeing the pain in her eyes and wishing he could take it all away. He smiled gently, opening his arms to her.

"Come here,"

She blinked tears as his arms enveloped her in an embrace, crushing her body to his. He cradled her in his arms, the blanket cocooning them both. Rose pressed herself to him, soothed by his comforting scent of tobacco and sandalwood; something she had committed to memory long ago, yet still seemed surreal as she breathed him in. She cupped behind his ear as their cheeks brushed, her hands finding refuge in his sandy blond mop. Even the texture of his hair was a pleasant surprise; so hauntingly familiar yet so exquisitely foreign to her.

He played with her curls, sensing how overwhelmed she was. He continued to speak softly, closing his eyes and allowing himself to meld into the embrace.

"I was declared fit enough to physically start work in February." He pressed occasional kisses to her hair. "Got myself a job in a small printing factory on Delancey."

Rose abruptly pulled back and looked at him. She could hardly believe it. Delancey Street was a mere fifteen minute walk from where she had lived and worked for the past year. To think they had roamed the same parts of town; passed the same buildings; walked the same streets and still that had not been reason enough for fate – God – _life_ to grant them a reunion sooner than this infuriated her. It all so felt so unjust.

"That's near to where I work." She frowned.

Jack smiled. "I figured."

She knitted her brows in confusion and he continued speaking, answering her silent question.

"So there I am, mixin' ink twelve hours a day just to keep myself from goin' insane," Jack's voice was the most beautiful sound in the world, she found herself listening intently and forgetting all about her temporary frustration. "A coupla' weeks pass and I keep overhearing the fellas talkin' about a gorgeous redhead waiting tables over on Bowery."

He was unable to reign in his wide, lop-sided grin then.

She blinked under his intense gaze, nearly losing her breath. His expression was all too familiar; it was the same one that replayed every night in her dreams, greeting her at the bow of the ship.

"There's a reason you never found a Rose DeWitt-Bukater..." She bit her lip, her quiet voice trembling. "I changed my name..." She clung to his shirt desperately, feeling the faint outline of his slender torso muscles. "That night, they asked me for my name. I had just lost you..."

He pressed his warm lips against the smooth skin of her forehead as a soft sob escaped her throat.

"I wanted to leave my old life behind; re-invent myself with all the strength you inspired in me... If I couldn't live a life _with_ you, I wanted to live a life _for_ you. I told the officer my name was Rose Dawson."

The term shocked did not even begin to explain the look on Jack's face.


	3. Chapter 3

"So all this time… You've been going by…"

She nodded, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "Rose... Dawson."

An involuntary shiver ran through Jack's body at the sound of her name combined with his. Goosebumps broke out along his flesh as he stared at her incredulously.

"You built a whole life for yourself…" He gestured around to the cluttered living room, his eyes flashing back towards her waitressing uniform. Tears blurred his vision now, the emotion overwhelming him. "You were all alone–" His throat constricted painfully as he imagined Rose wandering the streets of New York City by herself, frightened and lost and completely alone in the world. The thought was agonising to him and he felt wracked with guilt and regret.

Rose swallowed stoically. "I promised you, Jack."

He brought a hand to frame her cheek, astonishment flickering in his blue eyes. "You're incredible, you know that?"

"I was living for you. You kept me going." She breathed heavily.

"Don't you do that." He whispered softly, shaking his head. "Don't you give me credit for your strength. You did it all by yourself, Rose."

She blinked back the tears. "Not a minute has passed when you haven't been on my mind." She paused. "It would've been so easy to give up, but I wanted so desperately to build a life inspired by the one you gave. All I've tried to do is what would make you proud–" Her voice broke then, the tears freely spilling from her eyes.

"I'm so proud." He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. "_So_ proud, you hear me?"

"Even now," She continued, crying softly. "I can't trust whether this is real… That you're not just a dream…"

He was inches away from her face now, looking at her with desperate love and devotion. With every blink, more tears strayed from his azure eyes. "Tell me, Rose. Tell me. How can I make it real?"

The way he looked at her overwhelmed her. She had spent a year packing away such intense feelings and desires; resigned to the belief that she'd never allow her heart to be placed in such a vulnerable position again. She had survived by detaching herself emotionally. How could the stone wall she'd built around herself be knocked down in a just a few tender moments? Her heart was racing as she noticed his gaze drift to her parted lips. It would be so easy to lean forward and close the inches of space between them. In some ways, she craved nothing more to be intimate with Jack – it had been all she had dreamed of for a year – and yet, for some reason the thought scared her more than anything.

"I..." She felt her heart racing again. The derealisation washed over her; the fear, the disbelief, the horrible irony of it all. Her palms were sweating again, panic inescapable. She bolted upright and stood, feeling completely disorientated. "Jack, I need–" She paused, brushing off his concerned expression. "I'll just be right back." She choked out before fleeing into the kitchen, gripping the countertop as she breathed heavily, letting the tears flow freely as she suppressed her sobs.

What was wrong with her? Not a single day had passed where she had not prayed, pleaded, and bargained for the exact scenario currently unfolding in her tiny apartment. But the reality of seeing a ghost from the past was not quite the fairy-tale reunion she'd played over and over in her head. It was difficult; paralysing, surreal, overwhelming. She had spent twelve months coming to terms with accepting that she would never love anyone the way she loved Jack Dawson; had spent a year mourning his loss – and yet here he was, living and breathing and ten feet away from her in the next room.

* * *

She fiddled with the kettle, shakily pulling out two mugs from the cupboard, and that's when she felt it; the magnetic pull of his presence, still as powerful as it had been back then. Standing straight up, she turned around to find him there. He was stood so close that she had to crane her head up to look into his eyes; those eyes of such adoration and devotion. When she did, he gingerly brought a hand up to her cheek, allowing his fingertips to thread through her red curls.

"It's only me, Rose." He whispered. "You don't hafta hide yourself from me. You know me."

_"You know I didn't do it!" He shouted as he was forcibly removed from her stateroom; the broad forearms of the master-at-arms hooked around his shoulders as he struggled. Over the din of frantic passengers gathering in the corridor came his voice again, his eyes boring into hers. "You know me!"_

A recollection flashed before her eyes; images cycling through her mind like moving pictures on a box camera; scene after scene, every moment of that night, fast and violent and unrelenting. She shut her eyes, willing the memories to stop.

"Jack, you died." She whispered, lost in the past. "And a part of me died with you."


	4. Chapter 4

"I found you." His eyes were trained on her, piercing and unrelenting. "I found you and I'll always find you." He brushed his thumb over her cheek as her eyes opened slowly. "I'm never gonna leave you again, Rose. I promise."

"You can't make a promise like that, Jack." She whimpered, her glassy eyes fighting the demons behind them.

"Of course I can." He assured her, the back of his knuckles stroking her flushed cheek. "I haven't had a home since I was fifteen, and for the most part, I was happy that way. _Just a tumbleweed blowin' in the wind._" Smiles broke on each of their faces at the shared memory. "But then you came along, out of nowhere. You changed everything I thought I wanted. In an instant. I didn't wanna run anymore. I found a home when I least expected it. With you, Rose, on that ship..." He was whispering now, his voice wavering with emotion.

The mention of the Titanic out loud, even in passing, made her physically wince. She brought her hands up to hold his, her fingers lacing through his own, still caressing her cheeks lovingly.

"Being without you the past year..." Jack sighed heavily. "The only thing it made me realise is how much I need you. I've regretted every day of my life not tellin' you how much I loved you– how much I _love_ you, Rose." Tears were spilling from his eyes now. "From the very first second I laid eyes on you."

"I knew, Jack." She cried, fresh tears falling. "I always knew."

His thumb brushed her cheek lovingly. "I wanna spend the rest of my life loving you. I wanna marry you, I wanna do all the things we talked about..." She let out a quiet sob at the overwhelming devotion in his eyes. "I wanna travel with you, I wanna build a home with you, I wanna have lots of little red-headed babies with you and watch 'em grow..."

"Jack..." She whispered, devastated. "Having that much to lose… I couldn't survive it again…"

"Rose, just let me..." He interrupted, not able to find the right words. Cradling her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes dropped to her lips as his thumb brushed over them. He pressed his face against hers, his nose grazing along her cheek. Her eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of his closeness. "Can I– Can I kiss you?" He breathed against her, feeling her shiver as his thumb tugged on her plump bottom lip gently. He'd forgotten how gorgeous her lips were. An artist couldn't have envisioned them any more perfect.

When she didn't answer, he pulled back to look at her. He was met with the playful, haughty expression he had missed; her green eyes sparkling amidst the fresh tears threatening to fall. "Since when do you ask for permission?"

A radiant grin spread across his face and she almost gasped at his beauty. Holding her face between his large hands, he slowly brought his lips down to brush against hers. Rose inhaled deeply, her head spinning as she felt the familiar, yet distant and nostalgic sensation of his kiss. Every wonderful dream she'd had in three hundred and sixty-five days could never compare to the real thing here and now. Feeling her knees start to buckle, her hands gripped onto the counter behind her in an attempt to hold herself up.

Sensing her unsteadiness, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her against his body. "It's okay, hold onto me. I've gotcha. I've gotcha." He whispered softly against her lips, strong arms enveloping her.

Before she could respond, his lips were back on hers; tentatively at first, and then slowly building in passion. Her delicate hands came up to grip his biceps before making their way up over the firm muscles of his chest, eventually taking the time to finger through his silky golden hair. Taking her bottom lip between his, he swiped his tongue across, causing a breathless moan to involuntarily rise in her throat. The sound of it only encouraged Jack to further explore the honeyed depths of her mouth that he'd been deprived of for so long.

With his hands on either side of her waist, he lifted her effortlessly, a surprised yelp escaping her lips as he placed her up on the countertop. Stepping in between her legs, he rested his hands on her thighs where the hem of her robe had ridden up. Her hands came to hold his face, caressing his skin, pulling his lips back to hers. He teased her with a few short pecks, his eyes scanning her face as he did so, grinning against her lips. She became impatient, whining in mock annoyance, making him chuckle softly.

"Sorry." He grinned. "I just can't stop lookin' at you." He smiled, causing her features to soften. "You're so beautiful. The most beautiful..." Slipping his hands under the back of her thighs, he pulled her body forward so she was perched on the edge of the counter, allowing her legs to wrap fully around his waist. Groaning at the feeling of their lower bodies connecting, he captured her pouting lips in another searing kiss.

She moaned breathlessly, feeling parts of herself revive and awaken; intense stabs of warm pleasure surging throughout her body in reaction to his contact – sensations she had fully prepared to never quite experience again. Heat pooled between her legs as she attempted to match the dominance and passion in his kisses, holding him so tightly against her that her body bowed under his weight.

A bubbling whistle sounding from the rattling kettle on the cooker prompted Jack to pull back briefly, reaching over to move it off the hot burner. In his spatial absence, Rose's lips and tongue teased the sensitive skin under his ear, loving the way his skin felt and tasted under her tongue. His hand came up to tangle in her flaming curls as his head lolled back with a groan, welcoming the feeling of wet heat on his skin. She showered a frenzy of kisses up the golden column of his neck before trailing them back up to his face, finding his lips once again.

Their heaving breaths mingled together as his hands deftly fell to the sash that held her robe together. His eyes were trained on hers – looking for any hint of doubt or reservation – as he tugged on the fabric, the garment falling open to reveal the short, silk nightgown underneath. His fingertips slid against the smooth material covering her firm abdomen. Her breath caught in her throat at the sensation of his hands on her after all this time; those nimble, artist's hands that were caressing her once again, with such intent and love, travelling up to rest just below the swell of her ample cleavage.

"Jack..." She sighed breathlessly, lashes fluttering.

Looking down, he gingerly lifted a hand to cup the soft, voluptuous curve of her breast; running his thumb over her nipple, biting his lip as he watched goosebumps rise on her porcelain flesh; both peaks hardening in the wake of his every touch. Her lips rested against his temple as he studied her poetic splendour with the adoration and appreciation of both artist and lover. He leaned forward, dusting soft kisses along her collarbone before travelling up her neck hungrily, his teeth lightly grazing over her sensitive skin.

Inhaling sharply, she brought her hands to clutch his silky hair, fingering through the strands roughly as she bit her lip to stifle a moan. She tentatively moved her hips against his, desperately trying to relieve some of the pressure, her body aching with want as she felt his callused fingertips ghosting up her thighs. She opened her eyes to look into his, suddenly overwhelmed by the intense desire glazing them; something she'd only seen once before but had dreamt of every night since losing him.

"Jack." She whispered, heart racing; tightening her grip on him, needing to feel him present with her.

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere." He kissed her gently, stilling his hands. Not wanting to rush or frighten her, he kept them where they were; drawing shapes on her upper thighs with his fingertips soothingly. "We don't hafta do anything, Rose."

"I want to." She breathed, clutching his shirt. "I do. This is all I've dreamt about for the past year."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Me too." He rested his forehead to hers, before lacing his fingers through hers supportively. "But we can take things slow, one day atta time."

"We've already-"

"I know, but this is different. I'm still a ghost to you." He brought her soft hand to his lips and kissed her palm, compassion exuding from him. "Besides, I never got a chance to court you properly before... I want to."

"Court me?" She giggled, the familiar giddiness his boyish charm evoked settling in. All of a sudden she was reminded how comfortable and at ease he made her feel; how much she'd missed feeling the glow of his warmth. "Jack, how formal of you."

"I wanna make you fall in love with me all over again, Rose."

She blushed softly, stifling another giggle. "So you're going to woo me?"

He pecked her lips sweetly. "I certainly am, Miss." After a pause, he moved backwards to the middle of her kitchen floor and held out his hand for her to take. "Starting with a dance."

* * *

**AN: Was going to make them go at it like rabbits but I thought this was cuter and I'm trying to do this thing where I BUILD SUSPENSE... I dunno if this was realistic or worked well but I had a zap of inspiration and this was the result! Please let me know your thoughts in the review section. Your comments keep me going, thank you to everyone who takes the time to leave one. Xxo**


End file.
